Autoendobiographical: the Book That Never Ends

Copyright © 2012 by Brenton Plourde.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-2271-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2272-1 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/17/2012

Works Cited

Perincic, Natalija. Older Sister is a Friend. Edmonton: Croatian Press, 2012.

Guthrie, Anna. Stick With Me Baby. Detroit: Guthrie Publishing, 2008.

Hiebert, Crystal. Paid in Full. Calgary: Mennonite Publishing 2012.

Plourde, Cindy, and Brian Plourde. Parental Control. Orillia: Plourde Publishing, 1976.

This is the book that never ends. It’s not that I am not a good writer; it’s just that this book will never end.

I also have decided not to indent. Why indent? You know that previous sentence is the beginning of a new paragraph.

So the idea of a never ending book came to me the other day while I was reading a book that did end. I sometimes feel when reading a book and it ends that I would not have ended the book that way at all? I mean who cares if he lives and his family is all around him as he is the hospital, broken arms and broken legs and broken dreams but the love and the warmth of his family will bring him through?

There are books that do allow you to end them the way you would. They are called Choose Your Own Adventure but again you are asked to turn to page 72 if you feel Sally should follow the strange sound she hears as she investigates the death of Mrs. Johnston’s cat or turn to page 165 if you think that Sally should call the police. The cat died and I am sure Mrs. Johnston is upset but at 86, she should get over it and well is close to death herself, so think of it as a pre-requisite to where she is going.

The World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts (WAGGGS) motto is always Be Prepared.

So even if you choose not to make a choice and do nothing, you have still made a choice. Go ahead, stop reading this never ending book now, put it down, shelve it or even take it to your local used bookstore and trade it in for Stephen King—I personally don’t care, this book never ends anyways.

I plan on making literary history with this book. This is the Bible for the new generation. Forget Coupland and his Gen X bullshit of the early 1990s—this is the 2000s and we are Gen Why? I have to go to work—why? I have to pay my cell phone bill—why? I have to listen to what my parents say and be home by 11:30 p.m.—why?

So following that formula and hard core logo above, why does this book have to end? Us Gen Why-ers? are just going to shrug our shoulders when asked by the man to do something that we do not want to do and then go play XBOX or Nintendo Wii or go skateboarding at the local Gulp and Slurp on a Saturday night.

Even though the next page in common sense thinking would be page two, in fact it is whatever page number you want it to be. Make it page 17, make it page 142. I have no idea how many pages or made up fictional pages this never ending book will have.

Speaking of fiction - You know when people say a joke is 50% a joke and 50% the truth, isn’t fiction like that as well? Jack Kerouac hung out with Neal Cassady for a year or so and wrote his book—yet it is titled as fiction—made up, a story, not real but it was real. Sure the names where changed and maybe some of the backgrounds but 50% of that book (actually probably like 90%) is real but yet they classify it as fiction. Why not just call it realitiction.

I have always wanted to be an actor. I have watched a lot of movies and have my favorite actors. Everyday I act. That’s right, everyday I act like I care or am amused or am loving. I think I would take the direct opposite approach or Bassackwards to acting and to life. You always hear how the actor would wonder how his or her character would do a scene or how they would feel in a certain scene. To me, I would incorporate this into my everyday life but do it backwards. How would my character play me in real life? How would Sam Winston (the character in the movie) play Brenton J. Plourde in real life? Would Sam Winston not cry when his dog had to be put asleep? Would Brenton J. Plourde do that in real life? Let Sam Winston—the character—worry about how he would deal with death, love and life in the real life of Brenton J. Plourde.

I find nothing entertaining in the Entertainment section of my local newspaper.

Devised plan. On Saturday afternoons I hangout in the local Walk—In Clinic in my town. I sit and flip through the magazines from last year, reading about who won the Super Bowl last year and how great I can look if I lose that extra 15 lbs if I really applied myself at that time last year and be slimmer and more desirable at this time, one year from then. So I go there every Saturday afternoon and watch (secret agent man like) as the girls my age come in and take those pamphlets on certain diseases and how and what you can do to prevent it then I make mental notes to stay away from those ones when I see them at the club later on that night.

The bus always smells. We need bus fresheners. I also like reading yesterday’s newspaper on the bus or subway. I wonder who brought this newspaper on here? Were they shocked when they found out the mother murdered that little girl in the East End? Did they snicker to themselves when they found a certain celebrity got into trouble again? The abandoned Sudoku or Crossword is always good—17 down—three letters—Baseball player Mel ___.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my pen, filled in Ott and put the paper down on the seat beside me and pulled the string. The bell rang and I got off. Good bye newspaper, my three letters Ott was my contribution to your life.

I have always wanted to write a short story based on the 1942 Edward Hopper painting Nighthawks. So I took seven minutes and wrote this:

I did not have the heart to tell Lisa I was not a detective. I sit in this café with my detective hat on and my detective jacket on and back towards the window—my back towards the world.

The couple at the bar does not look like a couple at all. The man, who dresses like me, seems to be off in the distance. I wonder if he is a fake detective like me. The red dress the woman is wearing is nice but it does not flatter her one bit. It is just past 2 A.M. and it feels late.

From what I cannot hear, there is no one on the street. The streets are always quiet at this time. People do not seem to go out anymore. They are all nestled in, listening to the radio or watching television.

The man in the white seems to be enthralled with their conversation. He looks twice as old as me and appears to have been working here three times as long. I bet that man has heard it all from fights with wives and girlfriends to how the Brooklyn Dodgers are going to win the World Series. The day the coffee gets any better in this place, the Dodgers will win the World Series.

I did not have the heart to tell Lisa I was not a detective. I am merely an out of work actor playing a detective in my mind. From one audition to another, I try and detect if I have even the slightest chance passing the audition to play a detective on those new detective shows on television. For reasons I do not know, I still have no clue.

I will admit it could be better but then again, so could I and well so could you. Where people gain their inspirations to write things is purely based on how they feel or what triggers then at the time. I personally have one trigger and that trigger will remain my secret as if I told you then you will trigger yourself then write your own book and no one will buy this one.

Over the last however long it has been, I have been writing other stuff aside from this. So I decided to include the other stuff here purely for filler. These are all organized by day that I wrote them. There are spaces between each piece so you will know where the end and the beginning begin.

Sunday November Thirteenth Two Thousand Eight

According to Microsoft Word, this is Document 6. Now normally I would not think too much of this announcement by Microsoft Word but it struck a cord with me. How many times has Microsoft Word made this announcement to me? Why